


Land Of Memories and Lost Gifts

by viksherenqueer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, Other, Sadstuck, vikiwuzhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viksherenqueer/pseuds/viksherenqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does John Egbert do when he finds a box of his father's old belongings in a box? Warnings: Sadstuck</p>
            </blockquote>





	Land Of Memories and Lost Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Christ wow I am rereading this and fixing all typos omg. I was half asleep and speed typing.

Your name is John Egbert, and you smile as you exit the kitchen. The smell of brownies and the sound the laughter quieting as you got farther and farther down the hall. You smile even more at the thought of Jade convincing Davesprite the eggs in the fridge were not his children, so she could use them to make said brownies. It had been a while since having any sort of baked good, and you couldn't help but feel more than a little sentimental.

You make your way back to your bedroom after a couple minutes, and sit on the bed. You sigh, the familiar tug of your hood beneath you. You had the terrible habit of constantly sitting or stepping on the damn thing. This is why you float as much as possible, because it kept it out of your way. You remember back on the first few days on the ship when Davesprite would purposely try to trip you with it, and then laugh at you. He'd end up helping you up, and you wouldn't be able to not laugh, but it still hurt your nose after repeated smacks on the ground.

A feeling tugs at your heart though, bits of brownie stuck in your teeth keeping the taste ever present. Your thoughts trail back to long ago, when brownies would be dreaded. Or cakes, gosh cakes were terrible. Cupcakes weren't as bad though, especially that one time your dad put gushers on a couple. They were okay, but you still got sick of the sugary tastes in your mouth all the time. And when you started getting older, you began getting a bit of chub on you. You'd been quite insecure about it, being at the point of puberty where everything bothers you. You remember a distinct argument you had with your dad about shoving so many treats down your throat and that you were just going to get fat. You remember storming off.

Then you remember coming down half an hour later to apologize, and seeing your dad throwing out all the cake boxes. Your heart had broken at the sight, knowing that your dad had a passion for baking. You remember crying, you remember throwing your arms around him and begging him to not give up because you're so selfish. He'd just sat there, quietly stroking your head. By the end, he was joking and trying to cheer you up. It always worked. He always knew the buttons to push that made you smile until your buck teeth were jammed into your bottom lip because you were trying to hold back laughter.

You took a deep breath, letting your eyes trail down to the ground. You let your palm come up, hitting yourself on the forehead. You jump in surprise when the movement sent your glasses falling to the ground. You sigh, looking up as everything was now a blur of colors and shapes. You carefully move to the ground, on your hands and knees. You grope the ground, in search for your glasses. Your hand slid around, before they found the dark frames. You put them on your face, waiting for your eyes to adjust.

You let your eyes wander, before catching sight of a brown box under the bed. You stared at it for a moment, before taking a deep breath. You'd found several of these around, some of them of just random things Jade had found on the ship. Some things were objects from either of your guy's homes. Normally, Jade wouldn't stick things in your room like this though. She'd tell you first. This peaked your curiosity, and you pull the box out. In green, loopy handwriting on the top, it said:

“i'm sorry john D: i'm so sorry.”

You stared at it for a moment.

What could Jade be sorry for? Did she break something of yours and put it in this box? You sigh and gently unfold the flaps, expecting the worse. But no broken object could compare to the huge wave of emotions that just hit you like a freight train.

Right on top, was your dad's hat and pipe. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, as your heart sped up. You move, gently running your fingers over the cherrywood surface. You remember this pipe, so many times you'd catch your dad with it hanging between his lips, in a desperate attempt not to drop it while holding something else that occupied his hands. He'd bought this as a gift to himself for his birthday when you were 8. It had been something he'd been wanting to replace his old corn cob one, that had seen too many stressed out days and nights sitting up alone. 

Your heart was pounding, and your eyes stung. Your cheeks felt hot, and you sniffled quietly. You move the two objects off the top, looking to the several things inside. There were a couple ties, and some cans of shaving cream. Both didn't hurt as much as the first, but god, you'd be lying if you said you could hold back tears.

There were quite a few pieces of paper, some old and some newer. You grab one of the older looking ones, where the paper was slightly starting to yellow.

“Dear son,

It seems that you have learned how to get to the top cabinet and take the gushers. I am so proud of you. Now if only you knew how to hide the wrappers better. If you want to hide something from me, next time, it would be wiser to not attempt hiding it in the toilet.

-Love Dad.”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. That note was so old. How could it possibly have ended up on the ship? You sat that down like it could shatter if you moved it wrong, and grab another.

“Dear son,

I heard you playing the piano this morning. I know you stopped when I came in, since you don't think you're that good at it. But to be honest, you're doing great. Keep it up, John. One day, you could be going places just because you can move your fingers across some keys. People love music. If you are reading this, it means you are taking a shower. I just want you to know, that I am proud of you.

-Love Dad.”

You stare at it for a moment, then felt a tear run down your cheek. You felt guilty, because you hadn't touched a piano since the night before starting the game. You just, hadn't really had the chance. It didn't occur to you, you guess. You couldn't really make it famous or anything like your dad mentioned, but he thought you were getting good. And even though you might've blown it off as another one of his stupid compliments whenever you read the note the first time, it suddenly meant the entire world to you.

You put it next to the other one, ignoring how fast your breathing was getting. Your face felt hot, and you continue to sniffle.

You pick up another one, letting your eyes fall on the words on the page.

“Dear son,

If you are reading this, then it means you found it in your hiding place. I have noticed the writing on the walls lately, and honestly, it scares me. You write such nasty things about yourself John. I just want you to know that you're not a dork, there's nothing wrong with you son. You are simply perfect the way you are. We all have our flaws, but we need to learn to look past them. You are an amazing son, and are the greatest thing in my life. You have done so well for yourself, and I know, that one day, you're going to do great things. But, you need to get over these insecurities with yourself. You are going to do so well, at everything. If you have a little faith, you could do something incredibly important with you life. Never doubt yourself son, because never once have I. I am so proud of you John. You're becoming a man. Maybe one of these days I can teach you how to shave. You're almost 13. It seems like yesterday I was gifted with the most precious thing in my life, but he's growing up so fast. Thank you John, for everything.

-Love Dad”

Your head was aching from all the sniffling, as you choke back a sob. You suck in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and failing. It sounded more like a gasp, and it was forced. You put the notes with the others. You burry your face in your hands, letting the tears flow. Your hands became slick with cold sweat and tears. You let the sobs take over, wracking your body with violent shakes and sharp intakes of breath. Your head pounded, and your face felt too hot. 

After a couple minutes, you wipe your hands on your pants leg. Your vision was still blurry, but you didn't care. You didn't care if you had to sit there for 20 minutes reading a fucking sentence, you were going to read every single one of those notes.

And that's what you did.

You were thrusted into memories of late nights online where your dad knew you were up but thought you were too old to lecture. Memories of how when you first used the microwave without making something explode inside of it, he wanted to hug you until he kept you from growing up. Memories of the one time you cut yourself trying to shave, and he had to teach you a couple techniques, even though you had nothing to shave yet. Memories of when you'd talk about all your friends online, but your dad would silently wonder why you didn't have any friends at school. Memories of the one time when you started middle school and some kid was calling you beaver boy and beat you up after school, and broke your nose. You still hate how it was a little crooked on the tip.

So many notes, so many memories, so many tears. You suck in another quick breath, setting all the notes back in the box, choking back another sob. You cluth your dad's hat, hugging it tightly, and curling up on the floor, leaning against the bed. You let the tears go as much as they pleased, every little memory and wasted feeling flow through you. All the times you blew your dad off, or told him you couldn't do something with him because you were talking to Dave or Rose or playing a game, or just didn't want to go. All the times when you acted like he'd always be there.

You remember when you were younger, and you were home alone a lot. Your dad always told you he hated doing it, but he worked two jobs. Supporting yourself and a child was hard, and there were so many nights you felt like a burden.

Your name is John Egbert, and your father called you his gift. It has taken you fifteen and a half years to realize that, was a lie. He was your gift, and you didn't realize how much you needed him until he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I just  
> should be allowed to write sadstuck at 2am  
> But  
> so many  
> feels


End file.
